


I Will Stay Here (I Will Not Go)

by HowCleverOfYou



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Allan sleeps with everyone, Also strong Marian/Much relationship repair, Bakery AU, Bisexual Allan, Djaq goes by Saffia bc her brother is alive, F/M, Heavy Marian/Allan friendship, Honestly I Was Just Craving a Marian/Allan Friendship I Had To Write It, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of War, Modern AU, Much cries and I cry, Much has dyslexia, Robin and Much are army vets, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowCleverOfYou/pseuds/HowCleverOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allan’s head pops ‘round the door.</p><p>“You’ve got a visitor,” he says.</p><p>Marian looks up from the tray of half-rolled bankets in time to see Robin twirl out of the doorway, grinning like he knows just how tonight’s going to end. Marian squares her shoulders and makes it her personal mission to make sure he’s wrong.</p><p>---</p><p>Or, the one where Allan and Marian own a bakery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Stay Here (I Will Not Go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheReinbachDragonlord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReinbachDragonlord/gifts).



> Title inspired by "Shuffle" by Bombay Bicycle Club, basically all I listened to during finals. 100% of this goes out to my sister who destroyed my life by showing me Robin Hood. I am Much trash, honestly, and was craving a Allan/Marian best friendship modern AU so hard, and thus this was born. This has been a long time coming thanks to edits and college and life, but here we go.

Allan’s head pops ‘round the door.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he says.

Marian looks up from the tray of half-rolled bankets in time to see Robin twirl out of the doorway, grinning like he knows just how tonight’s going to end. Marian squares her shoulders and makes it her personal mission to make sure he’s wrong.

“Hood,” she says. Allan widens his eyes from behind Robin’s back and ducks out of the room, presumably to finish his cigarette on the back porch. “I wasn’t expecting you this week.”

He sashays his way over to the counter and lounges against it, pressing his tongue up to the bottoms of his top teeth. He still hasn’t stopped smiling and she has to force her gaze down to the dough in order to not return it.

“Marian,” he says cheerfully, as if they’d run into each other on the street by accident. “You’re looking rather nice today.”

“Oh, save it.” She turns her back for a moment and pretends to bang around in the cabinets below until she can straighten her face out again. “What’re you and your boys doing here tonight, hmm?”

“We were on our way to the shelters.” He stands up straighter, his hands suddenly the only point of contact with the counter. Leave it to Robin to always have his game face at the ready. “Figured we’d stop in, see if you have anything to spare.”

Marian can’t help herself: she takes a second just to look at him. His hair’s started to grow out a little bit more, and she can almost pretend that he’d never had a crew cut at all. The haunted look in his eyes has started to fade. He still wears his dog tags, though; she can see the chain around his neck. He’s wearing his green tunic again, and he looks so, so handsome.

She thinks of secondary school. She thinks of how his mouth felt at the base of her throat and about driving out to the countryside and about the first time he told her he was joining the military.

“I’ll see what I can find,” she says softly. His eyes follow her as she disappears into the pantry.

She keeps a bin there for discarded cakes and pastries. If things turn out looking a little bit off, or if Allan’s slipped and put in too much cinnamon, or if something hasn’t sold within two days of it coming out of the oven, it’s dropped in here until Robin can swing by and pick it up.

When she comes back out into the kitchen, the rest of Robin’s friends are there as well. Much is eyeing a fresh batch of marzipan resting on the stovetop. Allan is trying to chat up Will, as he usually is, while Little John watches in disgusted amusement. Robin is tapping away at his phone, but he looks up when she comes in.

“Here.” She sets the bin on the table. “This is it for the week, I think.”

It’s not too much, but Little John makes a show of hoisting it onto his shoulder. He leaves, and Will makes his excuses to Allan and follows. Allan looks slightly put-out, but rebounds quickly when he sees Much pocketing some sweets, and heads over to make off-color jokes about his weight.

“Thank you, Marian,” Robin says softly. He looks like he’s about to say something else, his hand outstretched like he wants to touch her, but he’s cut off by Much shouting, “I am not _fat_ , I’ve just been in bleeding _Afghanistan_ for the past five years, _excuse me_ , so if you’ll _please_ just let me have a _cake_ –“

Robin laughs a big, beautiful, open-mouthed laugh, and disappears into the night, taking Much by the scruff of the neck and dragging him along.

Marian and Allan are left in the wake of all this energy, and the world suddenly seems very large and very empty. Allan sucks some frosting from his thumb and bumps their shoulders together.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “My weekly reminder that I am very, very queer.”

***

Allan is, in fact, a raging bisexual (that being, he is a raging sexual, who so prefers both sexes, as being more open can get him laid about 50% more than choosing just one, but with the right vocabulary he’d be might err on the side of pansexuality, too), and Marian is reminded of this within a week of Robin’s last visit, when she stumbles into their shared kitchen at six in the morning to find a blond woman standing at the sink. She’s dressed in one of Allan’s shirts and, by the looks of it, not much else. She startles visibly when Marian begins to bang around in the cabinets for a mug.

“Who are you?” she asks in a voice that implies that she’s not the stranger standing half-naked around an unfamiliar flat with a High School Musical poster in the living room and a Batman rug in the toilet.

Marian manages to pour a cup before she has to turn rather abruptly and squint swollen-eyed at Allan’s latest conquest.

“I’m Marian,” she says carefully. “And who are you?”

The girl draws herself up and says, like it’s something to be proud of, “I’m Allan’s girlfriend.”

Marian quirks an eyebrow at that and takes a deep drag of her coffee. “Are you really, now.”

Allan takes that moment to come stumbling bleary-eyed into the kitchen. Marian has seen him in his pants plenty of times, having been his friend since university and subsequently having lived with him for several years, but between his tight white underpants and the random girl who seems to made herself at home in their kitchen, Marian finds the loud, unhappy noises she makes all the way back to her bedroom justifiable.

***

“Guy of Gisborne’s here,” Allan says, and manages to convey his belt-bursting attraction to the man along with his utter fear and respect for him in four simple words. He’s peering through the curtains to where Friedrich is chatting with Crazy Vasey, one of their regulars.

“Oh, no,” Marian says. She dusts some of the flour off her hands and comes to look over Allan’s head. Sure enough, Guy is standing in line, looking around in what he probably thinks looks genuinely thoughtful, but to Marian’s trained eye is clearly faux casual.

“Look,” Allan says, “and I’m not being funny. If you don’t want him, I’ll do it. I’ll take one for the team.”

Marian pinches Allan in the middle of his back, just because she can. He squirms and the curtains swing shut. “You know I’m only speaking with him because Gisborne’s the best quality supply shop around and he gives me great discounts.”

“Honestly,” Allan says, not even listening, and pushes the curtain back just a pinch. “It’s the leather. Just look at him, come on.”

Freidrich sticks his head quite suddenly into the small opening, startling them both.

“Guy’s here to see you,” he says, and wiggles his eyebrows. Marian takes a moment to reflect on the choices she made when choosing which men to have in her life. She rolls her eyes and goes out into the shop front. Her heart sinks when she sees how much Guy lights up when he sees her.

“Marian,” he says fondly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. “You look lovely today.”

“What can I get for you, Guy?”

As usual, he’s oblivious to her complete indifference for him, and grins shyly through his fringe. “I just wanted to stop in and say hello.”

“Well, hello, then,” she responds dryly. She can hear Allan whispering to Freidrich in the back room. The two of them begin giggling and she resists the urge to sigh.

He leans up against the counter, much like Robin had done the night before in the kitchen, but there’s something unsettling about Guy and his predatory gaze. Marian dislikes him very, very deeply, but the flour he can get for her is cheaper and of a higher quality than anything she can find herself, so she sacrifices her time occasionally to make nice with him.

“What are you doing Friday?” he inquires. He can’t look her in the eye because for as much as he plays off the big man, he’s actually quite a bit of a coward, and busies himself instead by flipping through the identical business cards sitting next to the cash register.

“I’m out with friends,” she lies, and doesn’t give him anything more. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, now.”

“Oh.” His hands stumble and the cards fan out across the counter. He scoops them up with an embarrassed pink to his cheeks and puts them back in their holder. “It was nice seeing you.”

She hums at him and pushes her way back through the curtain, nearly running into Allan, who is and has always been way too invested in her stilted relationship with Guy. Freidrich crosses his eyes at them and hurries back out into the front.

“Going out with friends, hmm?” He follows her back to the workstation, bouncing around at her shoulder like a particularly annoying golden retriever. “How come I haven’t heard anything about this?”

“Perhaps because we aren’t friends.” She makes an ugly face at him and whacks his hip with the tea towel she has tucked in her back pocket. “Now come on, that bread isn’t going to braid itself.”

***

Freidrich decides he misses Bavaria sometime around the end of summer and is gone within the month. Marian misses him a little bit, but not too much, and puts out an advert in hopes of finding someone else to watch the front and serve drinks. In the meantime, Allan has to fill that role, something which Marian doesn’t hear the end of until a fortnight later, when she finally finds who she’s looking for.

Saffia is a small Muslim girl with an endless supply of deep purple hijabs and the general air that she could break the spines of twelve men in under a minute. Marian likes her instantly. Allan likes her too, of course, but every time Marian catches him looking, she jabs him in the side with the flat of her hand and that seems to take care of the problem.

The next time Robin and his men come round, Saffia stays in the doorway and looks at them suspiciously. Will hides in the shadows near the freezer and stares at her with wide eyes while Much carries a bag of bread out alongside Little John and the bin.

“How are you?” Robin asks. She lets him take her hand and run his thumb over her knuckles.

“Better now I know the poor have been taken care of.”

Robin’s eyes flit over to Saffia, who is steadfastly ignoring Allan’s rambling to stare back at Will. “And who’s that?”

“Freidrich decided to go back to Germany. I needed help.”

Robin nods. “And she’s good?”

Marian narrows her eyes at him. “Why? Because she’s a girl, or because she’s Muslim?” She knows he didn’t mean either of those things, but sometimes getting a rise out of Robin is more fun than listening to him sweet-talk.

Predictably, he looks offended. “I just want to know you’re well taken care of.”

“I can handle myself.”

He draws his lips into a tight line, then flicks his head at Will, signaling him to go. Will pulls the hood up on his sweatshirt and disappears out the door without a word. Robin leans in close to Marian and bares his teeth.

“Just don’t get yourself into any trouble,” he says. It sounds like a command, but Marian’s known Robin for long enough to hear it for what it really is: _call if you need my help_. Marian narrows her eyes at him and they hover there for a moment, breathing each other’s air. Then, quite suddenly, he leans in and kisses her quickly on the mouth. He’s gone before she can open her eyes again.

xxx

She runs into Much at the grocery store a few weeks later, purely by chance. She’s surprised to find him on his knees and in uniform, stocking the lowest shelf with canned food. He looks up and seems just as shocked to find her there.

“Marian,” he says, scrambling to his feet. He looks odd without his beanie, just because she’d seen him with it so often. He laughs nervously and scrubs a hand through his hair, as if he can feel that she’s looking.

“I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Oh.” He looks around, as if just realizing where he is. “Yeah. I’m no good at swindling people at the tables, you know, so I go when Robin’s playing.”

“Really.”

He nods. “It’s not bad. It’s not, honestly, the pay is all right, and the people are nice, and it feels good sometimes, earning an honest living. I mean, it’s not much, but it helps pay the electricity and I get a discount here, which is nice when we need things like bread and eggs and –“

Marian cuts him off with a soft, “Much.”

He inhales deeply and sways nervously on his feet. “Sorry.”

She smiles at him, because she’s always liked Much. He and Robin had been friends long before Marian had met either of them, and he was unfailingly loyal and kind. He had always been nervous-nice around Marian, as if he was trying to quash the jealous part of himself. Marian had seen it back then, and she could see it now, but they’d never talked about it. She didn’t even know if Much was aware of it, he’d loved Robin for so long.

“What time are you off?” she asks.

“Oh.” He fumbles for the phone in his back pocket to check the time. “I’m, uh – off in an hour. At three.”

“Do you want to grab lunch or something?”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously and Marian realizes, quite belatedly, that they’d never done this before, not ever.

“I just want to know how you’re doing,” she adds, splaying her hands out in front of her as if laying her cards out on the table. “Honestly, we haven’t gotten to talk since you were discharged – or even before then, really.”

His face softens. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She smiles. “Just text me when you’re finished, all right?” She adds her number to his contact list, then leaves him to resume stocking in the confused awkwardness that always encapsulates their conversations.

Marian buys the berries she needs for the tart being prepped back at the bakery, then drops them in the boot of her car. She taps out a quick message to Allan that she’ll be awhile, then wanders back up to the shops. She browses them for a bit, not looking for anything in particular, until her phone buzzes with a text message.

_Unknown number: im fnishde_

Much is waiting for her outside the grocery store. He’s still in his uniform, of course, but he’s taken off his name badge and put on his beanie. He smiles nervously when he sees her.

They walk the short distance into town, where she buys him a sandwich off a cart. He protests quite a bit, but she ignores him. He’s living in Robin’s place at Locksley, the block of flats Robin had inherited on the nicer part of town when his dad died, which means that his earnings are spread even thinner. Living with Robin is expensive in and of itself, though he’s never meant it to be that way; that’s just the fact of the matter. Marian tries not to feel bad knowing that not having to buy his lunch for one day can help as much as it does.

They sit in the park between a children’s boutique and an antique ice cream shop and eat quietly as they people watch. Finally, Marian asks, “So how are you? Has it been okay since you’ve been back?”

Much chews slowly, then swallows heavily. He shrugs.

“I still get nightmares,” he says, not meeting her gaze. “Like I’m still there on the battlefield. We were at a lakefront last month for something, some sort of celebration for Robin’s mate Carter, and they set off fireworks.” He stares unblinking for a moment, then snaps back into the moment. “I mean, I’d heard about that, you know. Veterans being spooked by that kind of stuff.” He ducks his head and picks at the chips in his lap. “Never thought it’d happen to me.”

Marian doesn’t know what to say, so she nods and looks away. “Well,” she says eventually. “I’m glad you’re back.” She smiles at him, and he smiles at her, and the awkwardness is so tangible that it makes her uneasy.

“How’s it been going with you?” he asks.

“Fine, fine. Business is good. Allan is a pain in the arse as usual.” She laughs a little bit. “Look, Much. I wanted to ask you something.”

He looks up, brow furrowed. “Is everything all right?”

She looks at him for a while before answering. She looks at his soft, sweet face, and his kind eyes. She remembers being sixteen and watching his cheeks get pinker as he drank more. She remembers a game of spin the bottle and his mouth almost too eager to press against Robin’s. She remembers seeing him laugh along with the rest of them, as if it was all a joke. He’d excused himself a little while later, and she’d heard him crying in the garden, then shouting at himself for crying. He’d always been such a good friend. Perhaps too good of one.

“Would it be all right with you,” she begins, careful with her wording. She wants to repair a relationship that was a bit stilted the moment it began. She wants Much in her life as a _friend_ , not as her maybe-but-not-quite-boyfriend’s best friend. She starts again: “If Robin were to ever ask me to marry him, would you be all right with it?”

Much looks completely gobsmacked, then very much like he’s trying not to look completely gobsmacked. He carefully rolls the remains of his sandwich in its wrapper.

“Did he ask you to marry him?” he asks. He forces a smile onto his face.

“No, not since he’s been back.” She looks down at her hands. “He asked me before he was deployed, though.”

“Really?” Much stares down at the ground. “He never told me that.”

“I told him no.” She smiles and bumps his shoulder, like they’re two old women gossiping, but he doesn’t respond at all. “Honestly, I couldn’t bear the thought of being a widow by twenty-one.”

They sit in silence for a moment, both staring down at their hands.      

“Yes,” Much says, finally. He looks at her defiantly, his chin tucked up, like he’s ready for a fight. “Nobody in this world makes Robin happier than you. And if it makes you happy too, I think that you should marry him. Yes, that’s my final answer.”

“Oh, Much.” She reaches up and threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s getting long. She wonders if he’d like her to cut it for him. “You’re one of the most genuinely kind people I know.”

Much gives her a small smile, and it’s a start.

***

Allan’s brother Tom dies on a Saturday.

It’s their morning off, with the bakery not opening until later in the evening, so Marian and Allan are sitting on the couch, furiously playing cards in their pajamas, a rerun of some dumb sitcom running in the background. When the phone rings, Allan is slapping Marian’s hand away from the deck of cards, and Marian is shouting at him two decibels higher than usual.

“Hello,” Allan laughs into the phone, and that’s the last time Marian sees him smile for three days.

Marian closes the shop out of respect and drives Allan to Wandsworth, where his parents live. Marian’s met them plenty of times, but it still feels odd to sit with them in the living room and listen to them take quiet, shuddering breaths. Allan keeps opening and closing his mouth, like he’s going to say something, but ultimately chooses to keep staring wide-eyed at the bowl of chocolates on the coffee table instead.

Tom had always been a wild card, had been long before Marian and Allan had even met. This time, he’d been down south with some of his friends for the weekend. There was some drinking and a motorcycle and Beachy Head and he’d been found face-down in the water the following morning.

That night, Marian follows Allan up to his childhood bedroom. It’s still decorated with Wimbledon gear, same as it has been for years, as his father was from out that way and made sure his children knew what team was good to win.  He climbs into bed, curls onto his side, then looks over his shoulder at her.

She knows exactly what he’s asking for. She crawls in next to him, fits one arm over his, and pulls the blanket up over both of them. He turns onto his back so he can look up at her.

“I have no idea,” he says, voice shaking. “I’m not being funny, I have no idea what this means.”

For the first time since he’d gotten the news, Allan begins to cry. He cover his eyes with the back of his hand until Marian pulls it away and fits his face into the crook of her neck. She rubs his back and whispers to him, nonsensical things he can’t even hear. There’s only been one other time that they’ve done this, and it was back when Robin had gone MIA overseas. She’d thought he was dead, and Allan had looked just as much at a loss of what to do as she had felt.

His sobs subside after a while. When he’s hiccupping quietly against her shoulder, she pulls away and slips out to the toilet for some Kleenex. Once he’s cleaned up, he exhales deeply, and it’s less shaky than before.

It’s been a long time since Marian’s shared a bed with someone, let alone a child’s bed meant just for one. It’s nice, to be honest, even if Allan’s her best friend and his brother’s just died. He winds his arms around her waist and kisses her shoulder. He doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t have to.

***

“I need your help with something,” Saffia tells Marian the morning after the funeral. The shop is open again, a handful of their regulars asking them to wish Allan their best. There are four custom orders blinking on the answering machine in the back. Marian feels vaguely disheveled from the second-hand grief and the three days off of work.

“Yes,” Marian says, furiously whipping meringue into the right consistency. Saffia stays in the doorway, half-hidden by the curtain, so she can still keep an eye on the front counter while they talk.

“I want to meet someone,” she says.

“What do you mean, meet someone?” Marian takes a second to drop the whisk and roll the kinks out of her wrist. “Like, _meet_ meet someone?”

Saffia hides her face in the curtain for a moment. “Yes,” she says sheepishly. “I’ve been in England for almost a year and I haven’t met any suitable men.”

Marian can’t help but laugh. “Saffia, love, I’m sorry to break it to you, but there aren’t all that many suitable men in England. Or in the world, as far as that goes.”

Saffia’s mouth curls into a smile. “You know what I mean,” she laughs. “I’d like to date. But I don’t know where to go.”

“Let’s go out tomorrow night.” Marian sets the bowl aside and massages her palms. “Just the two of us. Girls’ night, out on the town.”

Saffia snorts out a laugh and their conversation is put to an end by a customer entering the shop.

***

After work, Marian goes back home to change, then drives to Saffia’s house. She lives with her brother Djaq in a terraced townhouse on the outskirts of town. They look very similar: Djaq is very handsome and has kind eyes, and his muscles bulge out from underneath his tee shirt. He’s gracious as he opens the door and sends her upstairs to Saffia’s room.

“I don’t know what to wear,” Saffia says the moment Marian opens the door. She’s standing in her undergarments in the middle of the room, hijab crumpled on the bed. This is the first time she’s seen Saffia without it.

“You look great in purple,” she says. She crosses over to the bed and looks down at the dresses strewn across the bed. “But you look great in red, too, honestly. Just wear what you think makes your body look the best.”

Saffia looks at her out of the corner of her eye, but says nothing. She pulls on a deep blue dress and pairs it with a black, carefully sequined headscarf.

“How do I look?” she asks, and does a little twirl to give Marian the full effect. She looks so excited, even if she’s trying not to show it, and Marian has to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

“You look beautiful, Saffia.”

Djaq whistles at them when they come down the stairs. “My lovely ladies,” he says. “Have a wonderful time.”

They go to a pub called Sherwood on the edge of the city. She and Allan used to go here a lot in the first few months after they finished university, but then the bakery opened and they stopped having time. It still looks the same as before: dimly lit billiards tables, the mustachioed barkeep, the sticky and splintery wooden chairs. They sit at the bar, where they can get a full view of the other patrons.

“All of these men are old,” Saffia comments a few minutes later. “Marian, you brought me to an old man bar.”

Marian scoffs and signals for the barkeep to bring them a pair of shots. “Allan and I used to hang ‘round here when we first moved out this way. This pub always had the hottest men.”

“Hottest,” Saffia repeats. “Hottest, perhaps, because they’re closest to their hellish graves.”

They spend an hour there, watching middle-aged men argue over the merits of United vs. City. A few send drinks their way, but Marian isn’t looking for any attention and Saffia turns her nose up at each one of them. Finally, Saffia sighs heavily and stands up.

“Come,” she says. “I have a much better idea.”

She drives this time, following the main road past the intersection nearest the bakery. She drives for another few blocks before she parallel parks along a badly lit side road and gets out. When Marian hesitates, she narrows her eyes.

“Come,” she repeats, and walks away.

“Where are we going?” Marian hurries to catch up with her. Saffia just smiles over her shoulder and keeps walking.

It turns out to be a gym. It’s big, brightly lit, and very clearly a chain, and it’s obvious that Saffia knows her way around this place. She fishes her member card from her purse, scans in, and the girl at the front smiles at her in recognition.

“I don’t have any workout clothes with me,” Marian whispers as they make their way down the hall.

“I have some extra,” she says. She eyes Marian briefly. “It may be a little tight.”

It’s nearly ten on a Wednesday night, so the locker room is empty. Saffia unlocks one of the cubbies and pulls out a baggy tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She thrusts them into Marian’s arms.

“Put these on.”

Marian stands gaping at her for a moment until Saffia gives her a look and starts to strip down herself. They change quietly, and Saffia puts Marian’s dress on a hanger in the locker for safekeeping.

“Do you like kick boxing?” Saffia looks so different than normal; instead of her usual draped shirt and skirt, she’s in a pair of yoga pants and a white tee shirt. She looks like she could kick someone’s arse without breaking a sweat.

“I’ve never tried it before.”

Saffia widens her eyes, like Marian’s in for a real treat, and starts for the door. “Come,” she says over her shoulder, and Marian follows.

They walk down to a mirrored room with a series of punching bags and weights and one sectioned off bit for amateur fights. Only two other guys are in the room – both very blond, and both very muscular. They look up when Saffia and Marian walk in.

“He-ey, there she is!” One of them gets up from the bench where he’d been pressing weights. “I didn’t think you were coming in tonight.”

Saffia blows her tongue out. “The night was a bust,” she says. “This is my friend Marian. I thought we’d show her some moves.”

“Yeah!” His smile grows even wider and he bounds over the short distance to shake Marian’s hand. “I’m Carter. That’s my brother Thomas. We’re gym rats, honestly, and humble admirers of Saffia, here. Have you ever seen her fight?” He gives a low whistle and follows her over to the ring. Marian sees Thomas roll his eyes, and when she catches his gaze, he comes over.

“He’s been crazy about her for months,” he says. “Honestly, it’s _Saffia this_ and _Saffia that_. Christ.”

“I can see that.” Something dawns on her. “Shouldn’t you be putting on gear?” she calls out.

“Pfft,” Saffia says, and Carter takes her lead and shrugs. “If you can’t take a hit, you shouldn’t be in the ring anyway.”

If Marian had ever had any doubts about Saffia’s badassery, this has proven it. She’s light on her feet but heavy in her punches, and when Thomas calls for a takedown, she has Carter on his back in under a minute. She even jumps on him, driving her elbow into his ribs, to bring it home. He’s wheezing underneath her, but she just laughs triumphantly.

On the ride home, Marian looks over to where Saffia is texting in the passenger seat.

“Tonight wasn’t a _total_ bust,” she says. “You did meet _someone_.”

Her confused expression is visible in the light from her phone. “What do you mean?”

“Saffia,” Marian laughs. “Carter is _really_ into you.”

She immediately looks embarrassed. “No, he’s not. We see each other one time a week. I beat him up. That’s it.”

“Really? That’s not what Thomas said.” She tries not to smile, but Saffia is seriously uncomfortable, and it’s _great_.

“And what did Thomas say?” she asks a moment later, going for casual but failing miserably.

“Thomas says Carter never stops talking about you.” She looks over, but Saffia’s phone has fallen asleep and she can’t see her expression in the dark. “You should ask him out or something.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s scared of me,” she says carefully.

Marian laughs. “Sometimes that’s the best way for boys to be. Robin’s scared of me, that’s for certain. Trust me, Saffia. He has a lot more to lose than you do.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “You really think so?”

Marian smiles at her, even if she can’t see it. “Yeah. I really do.”

xxx

“I am, in so many words, a pile of trash.” Allan says this conversationally, as if she’s talking about the weather. It’s Wednesday and he’s back at work. Marian pokes her head out of the pantry.

“And why’s that?”

He exhales slowly and deeply. “Well.”

Marian comes out of the pantry. “What did you do this time?”

“I may have,” he starts, then stops. “Actually, you know, I think we’re out of sprinkles. I’m going to pop out to the grocery.” He goes for the door, but Marian grabs him by the elbow.

“Spill,” she says. “As your boss and your best friend, I am _ordering you_ to tell me.” She steps back and crosses her arms, smiling smugly, while he rubs at his arm.

“Blimey,” he whispers. “Shit, Marian, I slept with Gisborne last night.”

Marian doesn’t know what to say, so she makes a melodramatic gagging sound and falls back against the counter. Allan looks embarrassed and sheepish.

“It wasn’t even that _good_ ,” he whines, and hops up onto one of the workstations so he can thrash his hanging legs. “He was so _vanilla_ , honestly, I think he just came over so he could sniff your panties or something.”

“Wait, you let him into our _house_?”

Allan looks at her incredulously, as if he can’t fathom why she’s suddenly upset. “Yes, Marian, I let him into _my_ bedroom. I don’t remember having to ask your permission to have people over.”

“Why didn’t you go over to his place?”

“I’m not being funny, I don’t want to be killed in his lair of the undead.”

“You,” Marian starts, but cuts herself off with a disgusted noise. She slaps her palm against her forehead. “Honestly, Allan. I don’t even know what to say.”

He makes an ugly sound at her, and she makes one back, and they get into an argument of grunts and half-words, and Marian is beginning to feel hopeful that he’s coming back to her, that the loss of his brother didn’t destroy the Allan she knows and loves. Then Saffia pokes her head in through the curtain. She looks worried.

“Marian,” she says, brow drawn. “There’s someone here to see you.”

xxx

“Look, I really don’t think this is necessary.”

“Oh-ho, I really think it is.”

She’s standing in the doorway of Allan’s bedroom watching him pack his overnight bag. She can see the corner of his favorite tee shirt underneath the opposite corner of the bed, and she knows he’s going to leave it there by accident, but she can’t bring herself to say anything because she’s so angry she can’t see straight.

“It was just five hundred, I swear. That was it.”

“Allan! You _stole five hundred pounds_ from my _business_. From our business! You stole five hundred quid and you came back to my flat and looked me in the eye and pretended that nothing ever happened.”

“ _Our_ flat,” he argues, because Allan doesn’t always see the big picture.

“I knew you were greedy, but I didn’t think you’d ever do anything to me.” She turns and walks down the hall to her own bedroom, but she doesn’t get very far before he bursts out of the door after her.

“Marian, I swear. It was an investment, I promise, this bloke was strapped for cash and he said it would pay out big, and it would happen really fast. I thought I’d have it back before you noticed. It was a gift, honest.”

“Oh, and I suppose he had something else to offer as well.” She fixes him with a stare and can tell she’s right by the way he avoids her gaze. “I can’t believe you stole from me and used that money to _pay_ for _sex_.”

“I didn’t,” he starts, but the pleading in his face is wiped away by an expression of pure horror. “Oh, _fuck_ , I fucked up _so bad_.”

“No shit!” she shouts, and slams her bedroom door behind her.

xxx

“Where’s Allan?” Will asks the next time Robin and his men swing by.

It’s been three days since Allan left, so it’s been three days of Marian on the high end of her emotions, so the bin is full of mistakes. She passes it across the counter to Little John and he gives her a small smile of encouragement.

“Allan is dead,” she says, because he’s as good as. Will nods solemnly like this was to be expected.

“Allan’s dead?” Much asks, horrified.

“To me,” she clarifies. “He’s dead _to me_.”

“So he’s not working here anymore,” Will says. She shakes her head. “Shame, he used to put some of your brownie brittle aside for me in exchange for some wood.” When Marian looks up sharply, he puts up his hands. “Chill, I’m a carpenter.”

“Much can cook,” Robin volunteers. It’s one of the only things he’s said all night. “Right, Much?”

“I cook a little bit,” Much allows.

“He’s the best out of us all,” Will agrees.

“Cooking’s a little bit different than baking.” Marian bites her lip. “Would you have a problem with reading recipes, with your dyslexia?”

Much shrugs. “Robin’s found an app that unscrambles it for me.”

“All right. Do you want to start tomorrow?”

He looks genuinely shocked. He looks to Robin, as if for permission, but Robin only shrugs back.

“Yeah,” he settles on. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The men go outside, leaving Robin and Marian alone in the kitchen.

“Sorry I’m not myself,” he says quietly. He comes up and takes her elbows into his hands. “I found out my friend Richard’s MIA.”

“Sorry I’m not _my_ self.” She reaches up and touches his face, skimming her nails along his jawline. “I never thought Allan would do something like that.”

Robin frowns, then pulls her into a hug. Marian melts into it, winding her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. He smells like sweat and cologne and the air outside, growing colder as the leaves begin to change. She lets him hold her for a while and thinks it’s doing the same amount of good for him as it is for her.

Much appears in the doorway after a while. “Master,” he says. “If we want to make the deliveries, we’d better head out.”

“I can’t believe you still call him that,” Marian laughs as Robin pulls away. She wipes tears she hadn’t known were there from the corners of her eyes. “He won that competition in year nine.”

“Master of the Bow,” Much agrees, grinning. “That never caught on with much anyone else, did it?”

“Nope, just you.” Robins stops before he gets too far away and pulls down the collar of his shirt, revealing the stark black bow and arrow tattooed on his pec. “But I certainly didn’t forget.” He winks at Marian. “Enjoy your night.”

xxx

Much is waiting at the back door when she gets to work.

“Morning, boss,” he says cheerfully. Between his beanie, his messenger bag, and the big grin on his face, he looks like he’s ready for his first day of school. The sight makes Marian smile.

“Morning, Much.” She unlocks the shop and flips on the lights of the back hallway. She takes the apron hanging above the safe and gestures for him to take the other. “We open in an hour, and Saffia’s here in forty-five minutes, meaning we have until then to make this morning’s pastries. They’ve got to be fresh and ready to go.”

“All that in an hour?” He looks doubtful.

“Oh, Much.” She smiles at him. “You don’t give me enough credit.”

Much’s first day goes well. He doesn’t burn anything, drops only a few of the newly frosted cupcakes, and even has some counter time, greeting customers as they come in and wrapping up their orders like an expert. When the night draws to a close and Saffia counts the till, the total isn’t any more off than most nights.

“This calls for a celebration,” she says, and Much looks beside himself with pride.

Saffia refuses to go back to Sherwood. Instead, she brings them to Lardner, a hole-in-the-wall Middle Eastern restaurant near her gym. They have good food and heavy drinks and it’s not long before Much is wide-eyed and pink in the cheeks.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long, _long_ while,” he declares over their third plate of naan. “Really. Thank you, both of you.”

Saffia reaches over to rub his arm, then clears her throat. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I… have a date.” Her mouth twists into a coy smile.

Marian gasps. “Saffia! Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turns her face away, embarrassed, as she gathers her things. “You were right about Carter.”

“Carter?” Much prompts.

“This guy at her gym,” she explains quickly, not taking her eyes off Saffia. “What changed?”

“A _pparently_ his brother Thomas gave him a push.” She tamps down her smile, but she gives Marian an intense look. “Thank you.”

“Go get him!” Much shouts after her, drawing looks from some of the surrounding tables, then collapses back into his chair. “She’s really something, isn’t she.”

Marian runs a hand through her hair. “She really is.”

Much pushes his mug around, painting across the lacquered wood with the leftover condensation. “So what’s going on with you and Allan?”

Marian’s good mood dissipates almost immediately. She slumps back and sighs.

“He stole some money from me to invest. It was, apparently, going to be a gift once he got the returns, but it turns out the guy up and left town right after he collected.”

He tries to whistle through his teeth but it comes out clumsily, mostly a stream of air between his teeth.

“It sounds to me,” he begins, and Marian cannot _believe_ this. One night out with the girls and Much thinks he’s qualified to give advice. It’s almost cute. “If he’s as selfish as I’ve heard he is, then perhaps he wasn’t being selfish at all. He was thinking of you, or so he says. Perhaps his efforts were just… misguided.”

Marian has to narrow her eyes at that. “Much, I’ve never known you to be so sage. Are you sure I’m not talking to a body double right now?”

“I usually skip this part of drunk and go straight into shouting and throwing my fists in the air.” He does just that, half-heartedly, just a fist raised above his head. “I don’t often drink without the intention of getting drunk.”

She reaches across the table and drags his mug away. “Then perhaps it’s time to go.”

They walk the several blocks to the Locksley flats, arms wound around each other and laughter floating back behind them. By the time they get to the doors, they’re both red-faced from the chilly air and bordering on slap-happy.

“You should come up for a bit,” he suggests, leaning heavily against the door. “Come say hi to everyone. Little John’s got an Xbox, you know. We could play, uh. We could play Call of Duty. Or – or! We have Dance Dance Revolution. I think Will bought that, but he won’t admit to it.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she says. “Thank you for the offer.”

“Thank _you_!” He points at her. “This is the first time I can remember going so long with friends without being the butt of someone’s joke.”

“Oh, no.”

“My friends, honestly, I love them. I love them. But they’re pricks, the lot of them. Well, except Roy, I guess, but Roy’s a fish and doesn’t say a lot at all.”

“Go to sleep, Much.” She smiles when he leans forward and kisses her on the cheek.

“Will do, boss. See you in the morning!” With that, he wrenches open the door and bounds inside. She waits until he’s up the stairs before she turns to go. She’s almost a block away when she hears someone shout her name.

It’s Robin, hopping down the fire escape like he’s descending the stairs. He jogs to catch up with her, barefoot and in a pair of sweatpants, and Marian can’t remember a time he’s looked more wonderful.

“Hi,” he says, and it’s almost shy.

“Hello there.” She reaches forward and touches his arm, because she’s still a little bit tipsy and also because she can.

“I just wanted to see you home.”

“I’ll be all right.”

Robin looks around at the dark road and the streetlights shining down above them. The sidewalks are empty. “A young, beautiful girl like you, walking home alone? I couldn’t allow that.”

“Robin, you don’t have shoes.”

He looks down in surprise, like he hadn’t thought this through, then turns and cups his hands over his mouth.

“Will!” he shouts, and Marian grabs at him, shushing.

“Robin, it’s nearly midnight.”

Will’s head appears in the window. “Yeah,” he calls back.

“Can you throw me down some shoes?”

Will disappears back inside. A moment later, a pair of bright orange Crocs hit the ground, followed by raucous laughter from within.

“Those bastards,” Robin says, but he’s smiling as he puts them on. Then he offers an arm to Marian. “Shall we?”

They make their way back to the restaurant in a comfortable silence. Marian rests her head on Robin’s bicep and he grins down at her, as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in this moment.

“Thanks for taking Much in,” he says quietly once Lardner’s lights are in view. “Looks like he had a great time.”

“Much is great. He’s much less high-strung than I remember him being.”

That makes Robin laugh, loud and open-mouthed. “Less high-strung? Marian, if we had the money for it, he’d be on like seventeen different anxiety medications. He just learned to internalize it.”

“That’s sad.”

Robin looks down at her to gauge her expression. “It is,” he says finally.

Her car is parallel parked alongside the sidewalk. They come to a stop next to it and Robin smiles down at her.

“I couldn’t possibly let you drive home in this state.”

“Robin, I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes at him, as if that proves it. “I promise. It’s just a little bit down the road anyways.”

He reaches up and touches the planes of her face, cupping the apple of her cheek in his hand. “Be safe,” he says quietly, then leans in to kiss her. Marian responds, bringing her cool fingers up to press against the warm skin above his waistband, and he jumps back, giggling. “That’s mean.”

She wiggles her fingers at him and backs away a bit. She can’t trust herself around him for too long, because she’s found herself wanting much more than she’s wanted since they broke up, nearly six years ago now.

“Have a good night, Robin,” she says.

“You as well, Marian.” He smiles at her again and bows his head a bit as she climbs into her car.

She watches him in her rearview mirror until he becomes a shadow against the dark of the night.

xxx

Guy comes by a few hours after his delivery men have dropped off the order. Saffia’s in the toilet, so there’s no escaping.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” he says, lowering his chin so he can look at her through his eyelashes.

“Yes,” she says, just this side of rude. “Everything looked fine.”

“If you’ll notice, I included a bag of our new sugar. Vanilla spiced. I hear it’s excellent.”

“Thank you, Guy.”

He continues to stare at her, a smile crawling at the edge of his mouth like he’s trying to trick her into smiling back. She keeps her lips tight and stares at a wisp of hair just to the right of his left eye. All she can think about is Allan and Guy, which makes her think of Allan himself, which makes her stomach clench up. She can’t help it. She misses him something fierce.

“I’d like to take you to dinner sometime,” he says, at which point Much must overhear the conversation (or he’s just very conveniently clumsy) and there’s a loud crash from the kitchen.

“Uh oh,” Marian says, just for show. Guy starts to come around the counter, but she waves him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Have a great day.”

She rushes back through the curtains to where Much is lying spread-eagle on the floor in a sea of flour.

“Oh, my God,” she says, loud enough that her voice carries out front. “This is going to take a while to clean up.”

She hears Guy grunt, then his footfalls as he makes his way to the door. A beat later, the bell rings, and the door falls shut. She breathes out a sigh of relief and crouches down next to Much.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says, offering her hand to pull him up.

He looks up at her in puzzlement, rising with the movement of her weight. “For what?”

xxx

It’s Saturday evening, and Marian is sitting at the bar in the kitchen, nursing a glass (bottle) of wine and thinking about how much better it would be if Allan was here with her. There’s a picture of them stuck to the refrigerator a few feet away, and the beachy scenery and the smiles on their faces seem like they’re taunting her.

She’s thinking about calling him – maybe they can talk this out; they’ve been through worse, really, they can get through this – when there’s a knock on the door. She scrambles off the stool embarrassingly fast and runs as quietly as she can to the door.

Then she waits, holding her breath, to make it seem like she isn’t quite as eager and she really is.

“Who is it?” she sing-songs through the door, then grips the knob, other hand ready to jab Allan right in the chest as soon as she opens it.

“It’s Much,” says the voice on the other end of the door. She drops her hand, confused, and opens the door. Sure enough: it’s Much. “Hi,” he says lamely.

“Hello,” she says, and realizes quite suddenly that he’s carrying a duffle bag. “How are you?”

He purses his lips together, drawing his face up into what looks like he’s about to sneeze, then says, “Robin and I had a fight, and I left.” A tear leaks out from the corner of his already red-rimmed eyes and tracks down the side of his face, but he pretends not to notice.

“Oh, God,” she says, and opens the door wider. He nods at her and comes inside, dropping his bag next to the coffee table before collapsing onto the couch. He puts his head in his hands. “What happened?”

“Well,” he starts out. “You know Robin. He’s never really been all that nice to me.”

She nods because it’s true; Robin isn’t much nice to anyone, least of all Much.

“And I’ve realized lately – shouldn’t he appreciate me? I followed him to _war_! I’ve been his best friend since year four and he still treats me like I’m second best. I give everything to him and he won’t even listen to me when I talk.”

Marian sits next to him on the couch. He leans back against the cushions so he can look at her.

“Don’t I deserve more?” he whispers, and the muscles in his face pull uncomfortably and he’s crying again.

“Oh, Much,” she says. “Of course you do. Robin may be a bit of a prick, but he’s hard not to love.”

“I just wish he would love me half as much as I love him.” He presses his fingers against his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Marian, I don’t know if he’d sacrifice anything for me at all.”

“Hey.” She pushes his fringe out of his eyes. “Robin loves you. He does. You’re his best friend on this green earth. He does appreciate you, he’s just – he has a hard time saying things. You know that. He throws around ‘I love you’s but when it comes to showing real emotion, he sort of shuts down.”

Much nods vigorously. “I know. I just – sometimes, too. Sometimes I wish he’d talk to me about some of the things we went through.” He levels her with a serious, almost desperate look. “Marian, it was _hell_ over there. There were times I didn’t think we would make it out alive. We saw all sorts of things, all sorts of hatred and violence, and there are nights where I wake up and it’s all I can see. It fills up my dreams. Dead men, bloody and torn to pieces. We had a friend over there, Legrand was his name, and we were walking along the camp one day, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. He’d stepped on a mine, and Robin and I fell backwards, and Legrand was gone, except he wasn’t, because he was in my shoes and on my clothes and _God_ , Marian.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I just need to talk about it sometimes,” he says. “Not a therapist, just. With someone who was there. Someone who can understand the – the _horrors_.” He looks down at his fingernails and picks at the edge of his thumb. “I just want to talk to Robin about it, is all.”

They’re quiet for a while, Much breathing wheezily through his mouth while Marian rubs slow circles on his back. She eyes the bag nearby.

“Do you need to stay here tonight?”

He looks at her for a moment, face red and swollen. Marian can’t remember a time she’s seen him look so sad. He inhales and she can see his eyes well up again. He looks like he’s about to answer, but instead, he just nods.

“Okay.” She stands up and hoists his bag up. “You can stay in Allan’s room. He hasn’t been here in nearly two weeks, so the bedsheets probably need a wash, but it should be fine for the night.”

“Thank you,” Much whispers.

Marian smiles at him. “Anytime, Much.”

xxx

Marian has lived with Allan Dale for five years (six if you count the year he’d skivved off on university housing and squatted in her room instead), so she’s no stranger to bad flatmates. As a whole, Allan is smelly, reasonably messy, and always seems to forget to wash his dishes after using them. He rarely does his laundry, has special guests traipsing in and out of his room at least once a week, wanders around in his pants more than is strictly necessary, and he fills up the DVR with episodes of all seven Real Housewives programs. But he does bring her breakfast in bed when she isn’t feeling well, and he knows how she takes her tea, and on the rare occasion that he does do his laundry, he always throws a load of hers in as well.

Much, by comparison, isn’t terrible. After almost a week of living out of Allan’s room, he _has_ done the laundry, and he’s cooked dinner (even after spending the day at the bakery), and he always puts down the toilet seat when he’s done. He’s very polite and treats the entire flat like he’s still on a trial basis, and that he’s staying here as an awkward guest and not as a friend. But he does do somewhat of a poor job cleaning the dishes, and he does forget to turn the television, lights, and other electronics off once he’s done using them, and he’s so used to living with other men that he doesn’t think twice about barging in to take a piss while Marian’s having a bath. But he does make a delicious lasagna.

The flat, however, still feels like it’s in a perpetual state of stilted awkwardness, and being in her own home has started to give Marian some minor anxiety, so when Allan knocks on the door exactly nineteen days after their fight, she’s probably a little bit more forgiving than she should be.

“Here,” Allan says, and pushes an envelope across the bar. They’re standing in the kitchen on opposite sides. Allan looks pale, as if he’s scared Marian’s going to punch him in the gut and throw him out again. Marian keeps her gaze cool because she’s learned after this long that her stare helps get her what she wants, especially from him. “It’s all the money, plus a little bit of interest. Not a lot, but it’s there.”

She takes the envelope and opens it to see that it’s stuffed full of notes. “How much is in here?”

He swallows audibly. “Five hundred fifty. Like I said, not much interest, but I’ll buy groceries for a bit, help take off some of your cost. It’ll add up eventually.”

She draws out the moment, well aware that he’s sweating across the counter. She rifles through the bills, as if counting them. When she looks up, she lets a smile break out across her face. “I accept.”

“Oh, thank God,” he says, and lunges around the counter to hug her. He smells the same as he always does: cheap cologne, dirt, and the cigarillos he smokes when he’s nervous. He puts his hand on the back of her head to keep her close. “I’m not being funny, I didn’t know if you were gonna forgive me.”

“Don’t think this is over,” she says. He lets go and she pulls back enough so she can look into his face. “I’m going to hold this over your head for years to come.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He hugs her again and lifts her up off her feet to swing her around in the small kitchen space.

When he sets her down, she says, “Much is staying in your room.”

“I’ve been gone two weeks and you already get yourself a new Allan?” He scoffs, but it’s careful, as if he’s not sure they’re back to normal just yet. “Whatever, I’ll go and kick him out.”

“No!” She grabs his arm and pulls him back. “He and Robin are fighting. You can’t ask him to leave.”

Allan gives her a look. “Where do you expect me to sleep then?”

“Where have you been sleeping? Not Gisborne’s, I hope.”

He at least has the decency to look offended. “Who do you take me for?”

“Yourself.”

He throws up his hands. “I can’t even argue with that. Anyway, I’ve been staying at my girlfriend Meg’s flat.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Oh, uh, ex-girlfriend. Apparently she knows Kate.”

“The blonde that one time?”

“Yeah, her.”

“You really know how to pick them.”

“Yeah, I really do.” He grins at her. “But seriously, where am I sleeping?”

Marian walks past him and into the living room, where she gestures grandly to the couch. “Viola.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I pay half the rent of this place, I’m not sleeping on that fart-covered monstrosity.”

“Fine. You can sleep in my room, then.” When he wiggles his eyebrows at her, she takes a pillow off the couch and hits him with it. He squawks in indignation and attacks, his bony fingers digging into her sides.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says quietly a while later, once the pillow fight/wrestling match has calmed down and they’re left sitting side-by-side against the back of the couch. He leans his head against his shoulder and threads his fingers through hers.

“Me too.”

xxx

There’s a range about an hour outside of the city, an archery set-up in the heart of the forest, where Robin goes when he wants to be alone. The car park is all gravel, as is the main trail leading from the office building to all of the shooting stalls beyond. Marian spends a while wandering around, peering in to see men practicing their drawing.

She finds Robin in one of the last ranges. He’s wearing the worn leather chest guard he’d been given as a prize for the regional archery championship games over a brown Henley, and she waits to catch his attention until he’s shot a bullseye.

“So Much is staying at my flat,” she says. He glances over his shoulder at her and it’s the first time since he’s been back that he hasn’t smiled upon seeing her.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, and reloads. She stands beside him and watches it hit perfectly.

“I’d like you to apologize to him, Robin.”

“What for?” He lines the next one up with his eye so he can see where it’s going to land, but it’s apparent he’s stalling for time based on how long it’s taking him.

“You know what for.” She puts her hand on his arm and he lowers his bow, but he won’t look at her. “You’ve always treated him differently, Robin, and you know it. Sometimes I think you act like he doesn’t have feelings. He’s so upset and lost and he needs his friend, Robin. He needs you.”

“He’s never said anything about this before.”

“He’s changed.” He finally meets her eyes. “He’s starting to grow up, Robin. I know that doesn’t mean much at twenty-five, but for the first time in all the time I’ve known you two, he’s reevaluating putting you first.”

Robin shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Marian.”

“Say you’re sorry! Say – I don’t know, say that you love him, that you appreciate him. Make him feel like he’s being listened to.”

Robin scoffs and squints up at the sky, watching a flock of birds pass overhead. “Much and I have been out on our own since we were fifteen, Marian. He’s my brother. I didn’t think I had to say all of that to him all the time.”

“But you know Much,” she says. She laughs, because this is ridiculous, and it comes out a little bitter. “Much is a glutton for affection and attention. _Especially_ coming from you. And it’s not such a terrible notion to feel like your best friend is listening when you speak.”

“I always listen to him.”

“Robin, we both know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, well, he talks so damn much, I need a break sometimes.” He looks into her eyes again, this time his face on the edge of anger. “We’ve been friends for most of our lives, Marian. There isn’t a lot that he says that I don’t already know.”

Marian tries a new approach. “You know how he feels about you.”

He looks away again. “That’s sorted. No need to talk about it.”

“But,” she starts, but he cuts her off. Now he’s angry.

“What do you want me to do about that, Marian?” he shouts. “Marry him instead of you? None of us would be happy and you know it. Like I said, that’s sorted, okay? Don’t bring it up again.”

Marian stares at him wide-eyed for a minute, then glares at him. “You’re being ridiculous, Robin.”

He scoffs and digs his bow into the ground to lean against. “You can leave now.”

“I’m not leaving until you agree to at least talk to him.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“Obviously there is, since he would rather live with me than with you.”

That seems to strike a chord. Robin inhales deeply, then lets it out slowly. “I’ll come over tonight,” he says quietly. “Now will you please leave me alone?”

Marian stares at him for a few beats, then turns on her heel and stalks away. When she reaches the end of the range, she turns back to see him shoot another bullseye, right in the center.

xxx

He comes by after dinner.

They’re all milling about the bar in the kitchen, talking while they clean up. There’s a casserole dish in the sink, nearly scraped clean by Allan, and three glasses of red wine on the bar. Allan’s telling a story about some of his gambling buddies. He’s waving his arms around, gesticulating wildly, when the doorbell rings.

Much pulls himself away to answer, and Marian’s still wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes when he comes back, Robin in tow.

“We, uh,” Much says. His face is still red from laughing, but he couldn’t be farther from it. He gestures over his shoulder towards Allan’s bedroom.

“Yeah,” Marian says. Allan shuts off the sink faucet. “Take as much time as you need.”

Robin looks back over his shoulder as they head into the back. He doesn’t smile.

“Blimey,” Allan says, and goes back to fishing silverware out of the sink. “That bloke has it in for me.”

“Robin?” Marian boosts herself up onto the countertop. “Why do you say that?” She swirls her wine in her glass before taking a sip.

“That glare.” He glances in the direction of his bedroom, as if he’s going to see Robin peering around the corner. “Marian, he knows about last night.”

“What?”

Allan drops a handful of spoons into a cup, then approaches her. He puts his hands on her knees and stares her straight into the eye.

“Last night,” he says carefully, but Marian can see the joke playing on the edge of his mouth. She raises an eyebrow and takes another drink. “I woke up in the middle of the night, see. And our butts were touching.” He puts a hand over his eyes like he’s ashamed of his wrongdoing. “I didn’t move away, Marian. I just let our butts keep touching.”

“Oh my God,” she laughs, and shoves him away. “You pervert.”

Allan goes back to the dishes, grinning.

Much and Robin stay in the room for a long time. Marian goes into the living room to watch reruns of The Office while Allan showers. They’re still talking when Allan emerges in a cloud of steam and a pair of bright green pajama pants decorated with green dollar signs. He plops down onto the couch and swings his legs into her lap.

“They’re still in there?” he asks, reaching to take the remote off the coffee table. He flips through the channels and she pinches his ankle.

“I was watching that,” she complains, ignoring his question. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“I never wear a shirt after I shower.”

“So this has nothing to do with the fact that Robin’s still here?”

He raises her eyebrows at her, as if he’s shocked at the accusation, and she mimics the expression.

“Uh,” he scoffs. “Certainly not. I don’t need to assert any sort of dominance.”

“So you won’t pee on his leg when he comes out?”

“Pshaw,” Allan replies, but any further comments are cut off by the bedroom door opening.

Much is first to appear, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He looks a great deal happier. Robin trails out behind him, looking far less grumpy than before. He smiles at Marian and nods, and she thinks that’s the most thanks she’ll get for her trouble.

“Everything good?” Marian asks, tipping her head back so she can see them both. Much grins at her.

“Everything’s great,” he says. “Thanks for letting me stay here, Marian, I appreciate it.”

“Any time.”

“Hey,” Allan says. “Not in my room, not _any time_.” Everybody ignores him.

Much heads out, but Robin trails behind. He brackets his arms against the back of the couch and looks down at Marian. She stares back up, waiting for him to say something, but he just catches his tongue between his front teeth and grins.

“No more sleeping in the same bed,” he says, more to Allan than to her, then leans down and kisses her once. Then he’s gone. Marian keeps her head back, staring at the ceiling, and tries not to smile too much.

“Oh, off with it,” Allan says, kicking his feet around in her lap. “You lovebirds, blah blah blah, just smile already. _Remind_ me that I’m still alone with only my right hand for the company.”

“You’ve slept with half of Nottingham,” she says, turning her head so she can see him.

“Not half,” he says, offended. “Maybe, like… a quarter, or something. Give me some credit here, I’m not a complete whore.”

Marian closes her fingers around his ankles and squeezes, just barely. “Whatever helps you get through the night, darling.”

xxx

She wakes up in the middle of the night to a dip in her mattress, and for a wild second, she thinks that maybe it’s Robin, but then Allan sticks his nose against her ear and collapses face-first on the other pillow. She laughs loudly, delightedly, and slaps his arse in tribute to Robin.

xxx

“I want to buy you lunch,” Allan says the next day. She’s elbows-deep in batter and he’s watching her from the other side of the counter. She still hasn’t offered him his job back yet, and some days, it’s like a wedge between them. But he makes his decent share playing the tables, sometimes even with Robin, so his half of the bills is always paid.

“Lunch?” she says. “Why lunch?”

“Uh, because I’m a lying, traitorous scumbag, am I not?” He rocks back on his heels. “Come on, scoot. Let’s get you out of here. Much can take care of the rest, can’t you, Much?”

Much is staring at them with wide, slightly panicky looking eyes. He grins in what he may think is reassurance, but ends up appearing mostly deranged.

“ _Right now_?” Marian tries to gesture to what she’s doing, but she just knocks up more flour and another layer covers the workspace and her jeans. “Oh, bugger.”

“Come on, then,” he says. He comes around the counter, grabs her waist, and steers her to the sink. “Wash up, let’s get a move on.”

“Fine,” she says finally, because Allan’s already started to spray her arms with water and there isn’t any use in getting them dirty all over again. “This had better be some good lunch, Allan.”

“I promise,” he says, but doesn’t say just what he’s promising.

They go to The Holy Land, a sandwich shop near to where Saffia lives, and sit in the corner farthest from the window. They’re halfway through eating when the mood shifts. Allan wipes his hands off on a napkin.

“I just want you to know that I love you,” he says. “A lot. I’m glad that I met you, and I’m glad that you’ve put up with me long enough to get where we are. I don’t know where I’d be without you. Or, no, I do – I’d have gambled off all my savings by twenty-two and would be living on the streets.”

Marian laughs. “You’re not going to propose to me, are you?”

Allan smiles at her, and it’s almost sad. “Marian,” he says. “I’m dying.”

Her entire world turns sideways until she sees it in the edge of his mouth.

“Oh my God,” she bursts out, then leans across the table to slap him on the arm. “Fuck you, you had me going.”

Allan leans back, laughing, clearly pleased with himself. “I just feel like a lot has changed recently. I just wanted you to know that I love you. And that I’m here for you. And… I’ll support you. In anything you want to do, or don’t want to do.”

Marian’s never heard Allan talk like this, so quiet and genuine – not sober, anyway. She gets a little watery, and Allan gets a little watery, and they take a moment to stare at the ceiling and fan themselves.

“I feel so stupid,” Allan says, giving a shaky laugh, when they finally look at each other again. “Oh, my God.”

“What’s brought this on?” Marian asks.

Allan stares at her for a second, unmistakable fondness in her eyes. “I didn’t know if you’d take me back,” he says. “And with Robin back from war, I’m not going to be the most important man in your life anymore.”

“Oh, Allan,” she says, and gets out of her seat so she can hug him. He winds his arms around her waist and she presses his head against her chest. When she sits back down, the waitress appears with the check.

“Shit,” Allan says, paling quite suddenly. “I forgot my wallet.”

xxx

When they get back to the bakery, Saffia pokes her head into the kitchen.

“Much went to the grocery,” she says. “Can you frost those?” She points to a pan of cupcakes on the countertop and disappears again.

“Allan,” Marian says, gesturing for him to get to work while she puts away her jacket.

“Uh, no,” he says. “I’m technically no longer employed here. I’m going up front to talk to Saffia.”

“Talk,” Marian says. “You know she’s got a boyfriend, now, right?”

“Hey,” Allan protests. “When I said _talk_ , I meant _sweet-talk for free samples_. Now is that so terrible?” There’s a tray of fudge cooling near the door and he takes a piece before heading into the kitchen.

The cupcakes are already out and cooled, a piping bag full of blue icing laying nearby. Much has more than proved himself as a baker, so she doesn’t even check to make sure they taste okay. He’s certainly much more skilled than Allan, even if Allan has the innate ability to always correctly answer when she asks, “What does this need?”

She’s nearly finished frosting when she notices there’s something off about one of them. She puts down the bag and picks the cupcake up, hands shaking, and when she turns around –

Robin is on one knee, and she’s holding a cupcake with a ring pressed into the center.

“Robin,” she says breathlessly.

“Grade nine,” he says quietly, and he has to look down at the ground for a moment to keep his smile in check. “Grade nine, there’s a new girl. Transferred from a public school nearby. I saw her walk in the room, and I felt something change. I knew that this girl, this – this _angel_ in a Justin Timberlake tee shirt –“

She has to laugh at that, because _yes_ , fourteen wasn’t the best look on her.

“I knew that I would love her.” He purses his lips, clearly keeping back tears. “I knew right there and then, and I knew the first time we spoke, and I knew over six years ago, the first time I tried to give you a ring – I knew that it would be hard, and I would make mistakes, but I _knew_ that I would marry you. I knew that we would be able to make a life together.”

“Robin,” she says, and chokes for a moment on her tears. She drops to her knees so they’re face to face.

“Marian,” he begins, and she’s already nodding, already pulling the ring from the cupcakes and pushing it into his hands. He laughs. “Marian, will you please marry me?”

“Yes,” she says, and barely waits for him to put the ring on her hand before launching into his arms. He hugs her back, one hand stroking through her hair. “You’d better go through with it this time.”

“I couldn’t let you go again,” he says into her ear. He kisses her cheek.

There’s a sudden burst of cheers from the front room and Marian pulls away in surprise. People stream in from behind the curtain: Much, Allan, Little John, Will, Saffia, Carter. They’re all smiling and clapping and Marian stops breathing for a moment because this was _planned_ , everyone knew it was happening, and Allan pulls her up off the floor to give her a hug.

“Congratulations!” He has a moment to grin at her before Robin’s pulling her back to his side. He tucks her under his arm and kisses her temple.

“I’m so glad you said yes,” he says into her hair, then they get lost in the celebration.

xxx

Saffia’s out for lunch with Carter the next time Guy comes in. He’s in his usual leather jacket and small, nervous smile, and he waits until she’s finished serving Crazy Vasey before approaching the counter.

“Hi,” he says, and drums his knuckles against the counter. “You all right?”

“Wonderful,” she says, and smiles at him for the first real time since they started doing business together.

“Yeah?” He seems to draw some confidence from that. Marian feels a little bit bad for taking such sick pleasure in telling him her news, but maybe it’ll get rid of this creep once and for all. “And why’s that?”

She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers, making her ring glimmer in the sun. She watches his face fall and shutter off. For a second, her heart aches for him. Then she remembers that he’s been ruthless, constantly flirting with and asking her out even though she’s asking him to stop more times than she can count. He knows she’s not interested; he just chooses not to believe it.

“Oh,” he says numbly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“When did –“ He stops to scratch at the back of his neck. “When did that happen?”

“Friday,” she says. “I came back from lunch and he was here.”

“Oh,” he says again. “Well, I’d better be off. Have a good day, Marian.”

“You too, Guy.”

He looks at her for another moment, then nods and shuffles out. He glances back once, then lets the door fall shut behind him.

Saffia takes that moment to rush in. She’s fixing her crooked hijab and looks red-faced and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Marian, I lost track of time,” she says. Once her pin is back in place, she ties her apron around her waist.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Marian grins at her and Saffia gives her a small, embarrassed smile back.

“We can’t all be saints.” She shrugs, winks, and turns as the bell over the front door rings. “Hello! Welcome to The Night Watchman.”

xxx

“How do you carry all of this?” Marian asks, surveying the bags of food scattered across the concrete. There’s got to be at least twenty, if not more.

Robin looks up from where he’s kneeling next to his motorcycle. “On our backs, mostly. We used to have a van, but _John_ thought it’d be fun one night to have a drink and then a drive ‘round town.” He raises his voice at the end part, and John scowls over his shoulder. “I’ve got a sidecar that helps with the lot of it, but I guess you’ll have to use that today.”

Allan had taken her car back to the flat, since he usually rode in and out with her, so Marian climbs into the sidecar and lets Robin pile bags of bread on top of her. He gives her a helmet, and then they’re off.

Robin has his regular spots and regular people that he feeds. He always seems to know where they are, even if he has to venture off his bike and under bridges, into the woods, or to the mouths of alleyways. He knows each and every person by name and he always takes a few minutes to talk and see how they’re doing. John, Will, and Much all have their own people to attend to, and they don’t move on to the next area until everyone’s back.

Marian didn’t realize that she could have fallen in love with Robin again, or any harder, than how deep she already was. But something about watching him speak to the homeless and treat them as people, as so few did, made her press her ring up against her lips and wonder how she got so lucky.

Once individuals were taken care of, they headed for the shelter. This was on the opposite side of town than Marian’s used to, so she doesn’t recognize any of the buildings, but when they walk in through the double front doors, Crazy Vasey is sitting by himself in the corner.

“Oh,” she says, separating herself from Robin’s side and going to kneel in front of Vasey. “Are you okay?”

Vasey squints up at her. “Mary,” he says.

“Yes,” she allows, then turns to dig in the bag strapped over her shoulder. “Would you like some bread?” Robin appears next to her and eases her hand from the stash, his grip loose but firm around her wrist.

“Be careful,” he says close to her ear. “When you’re here, only give food to Tuck.”

She smiles at Vasey as Robin eases her up and steers here in the direction of the food counter. There’s a priest standing there, wearing a clerical collar and a big smile. He grins even wider when he sees Robin approaching.

“Mr. Hood!” he calls cheerfully. “What a pleasure to see you!”

“You as well, Tuck.” He passes the bags over the counter and Tuck puts them with the rest. Marian looks around for the others and sees them seated at the tables, talking and laughing with some of the people eating. “This is Marian.”

“Marian!” he says, eyebrows and tone going up with recognition. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I you,” she lies. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiles at them for a moment. “Are you lot hungry?”

“Tuck, no,” Robin says. “This food is not for us.”

He nods, eyes humbly cast to the ground and smile still on his lips. “Of course. Thank you for your donation.”

“We’ll be back next week.” He bangs his fist on the counter and wanders off to a table seemingly at random, then drops down in front of someone. Marian follows, sliding into the conversation halfway through. The man looks at her through his fringe, expression almost distant.

“Hi,” she says.

“Ah.” Robin wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side. “This is my fiancé, Marian. Marian, this is Roy. He served, too.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, but Roy doesn’t respond. He just stares for a moment, and Marian can see it all behind his eyes.

They sit with Roy for a while, Robin just chatting to him, keeping him company. Roy doesn’t respond, just grunts every once and a while, but Robin keeps on like they’re carrying a conversation. Nearly twenty minutes pass before Robin pulls out his phone.

“We need to head out, Roy,” he says, and he sounds genuinely sorry. “But we’ll be back next week, all right? It was nice seeing you.”

Roy tilts his head, just a little bit, and it almost looks like a nod.

Robin stands to address the cafeteria at large. “My men! Let’s go.”

Much, Will, and John meet them by the motorcycles a few minutes later.

“Bertha says things are much better,” Will says, strapping his helmet on. “Some of her boys had the flu, but they’re all right again.”

“Good to hear.” Robin smiles.

“De Fourtnoy’s still having nightmares,” Much says. He shakes his head. “I can’t stand veterans living on the streets. It’s sick, is what it is.”

“Roy seems the same,” Robin adds. “Better than before, but still nearly catatonic.”

“I wish we could bring him in.”

“I know.” Robin mounts his motorcycle. “I’ll see you guys later, all right?”

Much is first to rev the engine, but trails behind the others out of the car park. He waves to them both as he goes. Marian waves back.

“I want to drive,” she tells Robin.

“What?” he laughs. “Have you ever driven one before?”

She gives him a look. “You’ve had this thing since before we started dating. Yes, I’ve driven one before.”

He laughs at that and rolls his eyes. “ _Okay_ , smartarse. Have you ridden once since I’ve been gone?”

She thinks of the holiday she and Allan took up north, and riding through the countryside. The image of Thomas comes to mind, just briefly, but she pushes it away.

“Budge over, then,” she says, and slide in front of him. She puts her hands on the clutch and waits for Robin’s breath of laughter, then his arms to circle around her waist before taking off. She weaves in and out of the streets, and Robin whoops behind her as she picks up speed.

She takes the back roads, just to draw out the ride. She can’t take the turns too sharply because of the sidecar, but she does what she can. In what seems too short a time, they’re back at her building. She parks in the lot instead of on the street, and when she dismounts, Robin gives her a funny look.

“Come on, then,” she says. She tosses her helmet into the sidecar and starts heading towards the building. It takes a second, but then he’s beside her, biting his lip like he isn’t eager to get upstairs.

xxx

She wakes up in the middle of the night with the heavy feeling that something’s wrong.

Robin stirs next to her. “Marian?”

“I need to go to the bakery.” She doesn’t realize what she’s thinking until the words are out of her mouth. She sits up and swings her feet over the side of the bed.

“Are you serious?”

She flips on the lamp on her bedside table and starts dressing. Robin just watches her, confused, eyes still swollen with sleep.

“Marian, it’s two in the morning.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“How do you know? Come back to bed, Marian.”

She leaves the bedroom and goes into the main living space. Allan’s jacket is draped around the back of one of the bar chairs and she makes a beeline for it. She’s digging through the pockets, trying to find her car keys, when Robin comes out of the bedroom. He’s put on boxers, but he’s shirtless and has some serious bedhead.

“What do you think’s happened?” he asks tiredly.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I just feel like I need to go.”

Allan door opens. He’s in his bedclothes but he’d probably been awake watching telly on his laptop. “What’s the problem?”

“Something’s wrong,” Marian says, while Robin tells him, “Nothing, go back to bed.”

Allan comes to stand next to Robin, looking worried. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “but something’s wrong. I’m going to the bakery.”

“Her intuition’s always right,” he tells Robin, then realizes that they’re both in nothing but their pants. In a blatant display of ignoring what’s actually important, they size each other up, eyes narrowed.

“Anyway,” Allan says awkwardly a moment later, metaphorical tail between his legs. “I’m coming with you.”

“Fine,” says Marian. She gathers up her coat as he goes back into his room to get dressed.

“Well, then I’m coming too,” Robin tells her.

“Also fine,” she responds. “Go put some clothes on, then.”

Nearly ten minutes later (Allan had decided he didn’t like what he was wearing, probably because his tee shirt isn’t as tight as Robin’s, so he wants to go change, but Marian starts shouting at him and he starts shouting back until Robin shouts at them both to shut up), they’re on the road to the bakery. It’s half two now and nobody’s out on the roads.

“What’s that?” Allan asks, propelling himself forward to stick his head between Marian and Robin. He points up ahead. “I’m not being funny, are those lights?”

Sure enough, they can see blue lights blinking on and off over the rooftops.

“Shit,” Marian says, and steps on the gas.

There are two police cars and an ambulance blocking off the street. Two firetrucks are pumping out water to kill the blaze that’s bursting out of the front of the bakery.

“Fuck!” Marian screams, a little hysterical, and pulls over abruptly. She’s out of the car before Robin or Allan can say anything. She gets two steps beyond the police line before an officer stops her.

“M’am, you need to step back.”

“That’s my bakery!” Her whole body is shaking. “That’s my – oh my _god_.”

The boys appear on either side of her.

“Why didn’t they call me?” she asks numbly, then fumbles for her purse and her phone and – “Fuck, I left it in the sidecar.”

“Can we speak to someone?” Robin asks. The officer looks at him for a moment, then nods and wanders off. They watch the fire in silence. Marian can feel the heat of it on her face.

The policeman returns a moment later alongside a firefighter in a white helmet.

“Blamire,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s my bakery,” Marian blurts out. “I didn’t have my phone on me, I didn’t get the call…”

“M’am, there’s nothing we can do right now. We won’t know anything until the fire’s been put out.”

“Oh my God,” she says, and has to turn away for a moment. Robin touches her back gingerly, then when he’s certain she won’t shove him off, he rubs circles into her back. She’s distantly aware of Allan talking quietly with the man, but doesn’t process any of it.

Blamire eventually heads back to his men, and the three of them sit on the curb and wait for him to return. None of them say much. Marian keeps trying to breathe past the tightness in her chest, but she can’t.

“My whole life,” she says numbly. “My entire _livelihood_ – up in smoke, just like that. I worked so hard to start this business. To keep it running.”

“And you did a wonderful job,” Allan says softly. He’s staring wide-eyed at the closed shoe repair shop across the street. “You did such a good job, Marian.”

“And now it’s all gone.” She buries her face in her hands. “What do I do now?”

xxx

When the ashy remains of the bakery are finally cleared for inspection, Marian fights her way in. It’s nearly sunrise, now, and she looks at all of these strange men in uniforms picking through the shattered glass of the display cases, the melted chairs and tables, the singed curtain separating the front from the kitchen.

Allan joins her a moment later, and together, they walk through into the kitchen.

“Looks like it was started from the inside,” says one of the men inspecting the stove. The other one looks up from the countertop.

“Right here, I’d say,” he agrees.

“Not electrical.”

 _Arson_ , Marian thinks, and has to lean against Allan for support. She feels it against her shoulder as he tenses, all the breath leaving him in one exhale.

“Marian,” he says. “Marian, fuck.”

“Allan, no,” she says. “No more bad news. Please.”

“I didn’t realize,” he continues anyway. His blue eyes are wide, panicked. “I thought you’d taken it while I was gone. My key.” He stops and turns to stare at the ceiling. He closes his eyes.

“Your key,” she prompts. She whispers, because it only seems appropriate.

“Gisborne,” he says quietly. Her stomach bottoms out. “It was on my dresser. I always came in with you, I didn’t even use it that often, and then we had our fight and I didn’t even realize it was _gone_.” He swallows soundly and looks down at her. “Marian, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“Guy,” she repeats. “Guy, Guy – _Guy_ , oh my _God_ , Allan.”

“I know, I know–“

“No,” she says, and he bites his lip to stop talking. “This morning I told Guy I’m marrying Robin.”

“You really think,” he starts, but stops. “Oh, fuck. You were right about him all along.”

“I wish I wasn’t.” She covers her face with her hands. “Allan, what do I do?”

He puts an arm up around her shoulders and squeezes her to his side.

“I don’t know, Marian,” he says quietly. “I really, really don’t know.”

 

_Epilogue_

“Oh,” Saffia says from the doorway, and Marian looks up at her reflection in the mirror. She’s wearing a soft green hijab and an emerald dress, and she looks stunning. “Marian, you look beautiful.”

“Me? Look at yourself.” Saffia comes up to stand beside her. “Paris is treating you well.”

Saffia scoffs and Marian turns so they can hug.

“I’m really happy for you,” Saffia says.

“And I for you.”

They only pull apart with Allan bursts into the room, his tie slightly askew and his hair a mess.

“I know I’m not supposed to see the bride before the wedding,” he begins.

Saffia cuts him off with, “You’re the matron of honor, Allan.”

Allan ignores her. “I’m not being funny, Will looks really fit in his suit.”

“At my wedding,” Marian says, “Really.” She gestures for him to come closer so she can fix his tie, then gets to work at straightening out his hair. “You’re lucky he’s not wearing lipstick.”

“Oh-ho,” he says. “Maybe some other time.”

“Is Much panicking?” Saffia asks. She sits down on one of the plush chairs along the window. “He was looking a little green last time I saw him.”

“Oh, he’s in a tizzy,” Allan says. When Marian’s finished, he looks at himself in the mirror and nods his approval. “I’m pretty sure he’s blown his bits twice already.”

“He’s not even the one getting married,” Marian says, but it’s fond.

“But you are,” Allan says, and then the mood shifts. It’s like in that restaurant all those months ago. She can see his love for her in his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Marian.”

“Proud!” she laughs, then has to dab at the corners of her eyes. “Proud, as if I’d never get married.”

“Proud,” he says, and his face twists into somewhat of a scowl. “Proud that you resisted my charm all this time. We haven’t hooked up once, did you know that?”

“Oh, I’m painfully aware.” They smile at each other for a moment before Allan pulls her into a hug. He lifts her off her feet, just a bit, and swings her back and forth.

“I’m going to miss having you as a flatmate,” he confesses once they’ve pulled away from each other. “I’m trying to find someone else, you know, with adverts in the paper, but everyone who comes in is all wrong.”

“And why’s that?” Saffia asks, amused, from her corner.

“Well, I don’t want someone completely hideous,” he says, ticking that off on his finger. “You know, just in case I need an emergency tumble. But I also don’t want someone _too_ gorgeous. Really, pining doesn’t look good on me.”

“And how could you live with someone outdoing your _own_ beauty?” Marian teases.

“I’ve already dealt with that for this long,” he retorts, and she has to squeeze his hand for that. It’s odd; she can barely remember a time when she wasn’t friends with Allan. It’s ingrained in her so deeply that her life feels like a series of _always_ : she’s _always_ been friends with Allan. She’s _always_ been fond of baking. She’s _always_ loved Robin.

There’s a knock from the doorway and Carter pokes his head in, one hand over his eyes.

“Guests, take our seats,” he says. Saffia laughs and goes out into the hall to join him. She brushes her hand along Marian’s shoulder as she passes. Allan stays another moment longer.

“Good luck,” he says. He kisses her on the cheek.

Once she’s alone again, Marian turns to look at herself in the mirror. She smooths her hands down her dress nervously and wonders just what she’s gotten herself into. Just then, she sees something over her shoulder.

“Robin!” she hisses. He climbs down from where he’s been hiding on top of the wardrobe. “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding.”

“I know, I know,” he says. He comes towards her, hands up in surrender, but his eyes are roaming over her, taking it all in. He presses his lips together, and she can see the tears welling in his eyes.

“How long have you been there?” she asks. Her voice comes out choked.

“You look so beautiful,” he says instead. He stops just short of her.

“You look wonderful,” she responds breathlessly. And he does: his hair is combed for once, and his shirt is pressed. He’s wearing a beautiful black tuxedo and has one red rose in his pocket. His cufflinks are small, silver M’s. She’s never been so in love with him.

“I can’t believe,” he begins, then has to stop as a wave of emotion hits him. She watches him press his hands up against his eyes and breathes out shaky breaths as well. “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

“Oh, Robin,” she whispers, and closes the gap between them. He tries not to cry on her shoulder, but she can feel his tears against her neck. They stay like that for a moment, then Robin kisses her ear and pulls away.

“I’d better get out there,” he says. He takes one last look and exhales unsteadily. “I’ll see you.”

It’s almost a question, and Marian’s rarely known Robin to be unsure.

“Of course,” she whispers. She’s been waiting on this for nearly ten years, now. “I’ll be there.”

xxx

Marian knows it’s hard to escape the reception when you’re the bride, but she tries anyway. She ducks into the kitchen for a moment, just to escape the noise and excitement, and is hit quite suddenly with the realization that she misses this more than anything. Even if these people are serving hors d'oeuvres and vegetables instead of pies and cupcakes, the glint of the stainless steel in the harsh lighting still strikes her.

She’s still a little bit dizzy, both from the noise and from the remembered ache in her chest, when Allan slips in through the doors behind her.

“Marian,” he says cheerfully. “Look at you, a married woman.”

“Allan, I’ve danced with you four times already.”

“I know,” he says. “I just can’t believe you’re married.” He pauses for a moment and gives her a sly smile. “I thought I’d get tied down way before you.”

“Oh, as if,” she laughs.

“So I didn’t want to throw my real gift in with the rest,” he says. “It comes with an explanation.”

Marian crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” He reaches behind him and pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He holds it up to her and looks her straight in the eye. “This is the rental agreement for a commercial kitchen near Locksley.”

Her heart stops for a moment.

“It’s not as big, but it has way more updated appliances. Plus, it’s in a higher traffic area.”

“Allan,” she says numbly.

“There’s some start-up cash here as well. I’ve got the first three month’s rent, so this can go towards your signage and buying new furniture and whatnot.”

“I can’t,” she starts, but he interrupts with a firm, “You _can_. Marian, I fucked up, but you let me back into your life. I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

“This is more than I could ever have asked for,” she says. She’s aware that she’s becoming watery again for possibly the thousandth time that day.

“You didn’t ask for it,” he responds simply. “This is my wedding gift, and my I’m-sorry gift, and my you’re-my-best-friend-in-the-world gift. You haven’t been the same since the fire.”

“No,” she agrees. “I haven’t.”

“You’re getting a fresh start, anyway. New house. New husband. And now: new bakery.” He tucks the envelope into her hand. “Hopefully you won’t be having many new friends, though. Not many people’ll put up with you like I do.”

“How did you even afford this?” she asks. She opens the envelope, but can’t count the money through her blurred vision.

“I’ve been gambling again,” he admits. “Like, a lot more than I used to. But – hopefully, if you’d like, I can come back and work in your kitchen.” He shrugs. “Earn an honest living.”

“Yes,” she says. “Of course.” She launches forward to hug him.

“But really,” he says. “We need a better name than _The Night Watchman_. I know you’re a fan of the legends about that outlaw, but it makes you look like you repair clocks, I’m not being funny.”

She laughs into his shoulder. “I’ll be sure to think of one.”

“I’ve thought of some, if you want some suggestions.” He pulls away and throws an arm around her. “How about, _The Adventures of Allan and Marian_?”

“Oh my God.”

“No? How about, _Hungry Hood_.” He growls a little bit and grins when she starts to laugh.

“Abso _lutely_ not.” They push their way back through the kitchen doors and start down the hallway towards the ballroom.

“Hmm… _Allan’s Apple Pies_.”

“These are all terrible, you know.”

“Fine. _Marian’s… Makings_.”

“Allan, please don’t quit your day job.”

Robin and Much are farther down, sipping at their champagne and laughing. They both look up at the sound of Allan’s voice.

“ _Marian’s Munchins_ ,” Allan continues. When they’re close enough, Marian laces an arm through Robin’s.

“Hello, you,” he says quietly. The other two start to wander off, and Marian can hear the beginnings of Allan’s gleeful verbal jabs at Much, who whines back like an indignant child. It’s easy to tear her eyes away from them and look up at Robin, blue eyes shining bright. “My beautiful wife.”

She kisses his shoulder. “Now and forever, my love. Now and forever.”


End file.
